Back Home
by Faith Kingsley
Summary: Slightly AU, I guess. Max is recaptured by Manticore's Special Ops on January the first, 2013. How does this affect the girl we all know and love?
1. Tracked

Story Disclaimer - Dark Angel and its characters do not belong to me, unfortunately. If they did, then the series would never have stopped, for one thing. I'm not 100 certain on some things connected to the Dark Angel universe, having not seen all of the episodes yet, so if there are any glaring inconsistencies then I would appreciate somebody letting me know! I'm going on holiday tomorrow, so it might be a little while before I update again.

--Chapter One--

It was dark. A young girl was running down a downtown New York alley, her head regularly whipping around, trying to get a clear view of her pursuers. Her feet slapped on the wet concrete, deftly avoiding dumpsters and stray trash bags. As she looked behind her once more, she saw five larger shadows advancing on her. She returned to look front just in time to swerve around a pile of broken furniture. Her curly dark hair caught in the tear tracks on her cheeks, and she brushed it away angrily with her fingers. She caught sight of a tall chain-link fence two hundred yards in front of her, and her breath caught. Without breaking stride she scanned the area up until the fence, looking for an escape route but not finding one. She could hear heavy footsteps behind her now, getting closer, and she knew she had no choice. Five metres shy of the fence she jumped.

At the same moment that she jumped one of the people chasing her took a small black box from his belt, flipped a switch on its side and threw it at the fence. When it hit the metal sparks flew from the connection point, forming arcs of light radiating across the fence. The electricity shot up the girl's arms and legs, her body becoming rigid and flying back off the fence, before landing on the concrete with a dull thud. Amazingly, she groggily drew herself to her feet to find herself surrounded by the five people who had previously been chasing her. They were all older than her, in their late teens, and were dressed from head to toe in black, with various weapons hidden in discreet places. There were three boys and two girls, one of the boys bent down to pick up the little black box, switched it off and slipped it back into its case. He was evidently the leader; the others were standing at ease, their heads inclined slightly towards him.

He drew himself up and the others shifted slightly, accommodating him into the circle, allowing the girl no chance of escape. She turned in circles, looking for a weak point and therefore by extension a way out of her current situation. She couldn't find one but she kept circling anyway, her eyes dilated and flitting quickly around, taking in every small detail in the vain hope that her quick mind would be able to see an escape route.

"Give it up and come in," the leader said, giving a small hand-signal. The entire team shifted into combat mode, drawing their fists up and assuming textbook positions.

The girl continued to circle, never presenting herself as a target but still taking everything in. "No chance in hell," she murmured. "What would Zack do?" she said, so quietly that none of the others could hear her. "Think, girl."

"X5-452," the leader said, not surprised when she did a double take at her designation. "We have orders to bring you back alive, no matter what the cost. Manticore wants you back and Special Ops has been sent to bring you in. You know what that means.'

The girl looked defiantly into his eyes. 'My name is Max,' she said forcefully, before launching herself at him. She got in several good punches and kicks before the Special Ops team overpowered her. As soon as she was unconscious they backed off, and the leader lifted her and carried her gently, as if she were sleeping. They walked out of the alley, the CO in front and the others flanking him, two on either side. They slid into the shadows and started to run, silently and unnoticed.

Three miles outside the city they reached a black SUV. One of the girls opened it and pulled a small refrigerated case from the front seat. The CO laid Max down into the back and bound her hands and ankles together with police restraints, snapping her dislocated right shoulder back into its socket making Max moan, but she didn't come to. The girl sat on the floor next to Max and pulled some sterile wipes from the refrigerated pack. She ripped Max's left sleeve and swabbed her upper arm, before injecting her with a transparent colourless solution. She taped a swab over it, and used the last wipe to clear the blood and dirt from Max's face. There were large bruises on her cheekbones and jaw, and she had a deep cut over her left eye and a split lip. The girl pulled some medi-stitches out of the case, putting the used syringe back, and closed the cut over her eye. She zipped the case back up and stood up.

"X4-834?" The CO asked, closing the back of the car, leaving Max inside unconscious on the floor.

The girl stood at attention. "Ten milligrams of fentanyl and medi-stitches. Expected unconsciousness for an X5 is six hours, sir." She waited patiently for further instructions, focusing on a point six inches above her CO's head.

"Good work, soldier," the CO replied. "Dismissed," he said, taking the car keys from her and heading for the driver's seat. The rest of the team filed in the car, X4-834 sitting in the passenger seat and the other three soldiers in the back seat. They all buckled their belts simultaneously.

The CO started the engine. He turned to the soldier sitting in the middle seat. "297, is the prisoner still secure?"

The soldier turned in his seat, checking Max's pulse in her neck with two fingers. 'Prisoner is safe, contained and unconscious, with a steady pulse, sir,' he said, turning back to face the front.

"Good, damn 09er," the CO said, starting the engine. "Let's go home," he added, pulling the car out of the secluded lane it was in and into a deserted main road.

It was three twenty in the morning on January the first, 2013. Max was twelve years old, and had been free for two and a half of those years, and had seen many of America's biggest cities. All she could think, when she was running down that alley, was that thirteen probably wasn't her lucky number.

--End of Chapter One--


	2. Familiar Territory

For disclaimer, please see Chapter One. Thanks so much for all your reviews, I didn't expect to get so many for this, I mean, I like it, but I wasn't sure that anyone else would!

**Black Rose9** - Lydecker will certainly make repeat visits, but he probably won't be that much of a main character. I'm glad you like it. TFR.

**angelofdarkness78** - Thanks for your kind words, I'm sorry it took so long, but I only got back from holiday a couple of weeks ago and work has been hectic! TFR.

**kill bill rocks** - Whoa, you can keep the compliments coming! Thanks, high praise indeed. TFR.

**Dory Shotgun** - Thanks. Sorry for the wait! TFR.

**CrimsonReality** - The praise is always welcome! TFR.

--Chapter Two--

When Max came to, she kept her eyes closed; it was something she'd picked up at Manticore and never wanted to shake. For her first few minutes of consciousness she kept her breathing regular and deep, unchanged from her sleeping state. Her senses were working overtime. She could feel a hard mattress underneath her, and thin cotton sheets. An icy breeze danced about her feet; in fact the entire room was uncomfortably cold. The only sounds she could hear were the distant footfalls of marching cadets and patrolling guards, the echoes of them telling her that her room was small and made of a hard, unforgiving material, such as stone or metal. The lack of anyone else's breathing reassured her; at least she wasn't under 24 hour supervision. In her heart she knew that she was back at Manticore, probably in solitary confinement, but she still retained the small hope that she was in a hospital or another institution.

When she finally opened her eyes, whilst taking in the hard granite walls of her most recent prison, they flicked to the door. To her surprise, she saw a motion-sensitive CCTV camera outside her room, focussed in through the toughened glass to encompass the entirety of her small floor. Looking around, she realised that she was back in Wyoming, in the top-security isolation area. The small grill next to her head and the one across the room she knew connected to the adjoining cells. It was one of the few design flaws which Manticore had not recognised. They'd deemed the grill not to be an escape risk; after all, it was only four inches by six, nowhere near large enough for even the smallest child to crawl through. The use of them for ventilation far outweighed any concerns about transgenics communicating in their cells. Max surreptitiously turned her head and glanced to her right. The cell was empty, as was the one to her left when she glanced in that direction.

There were no windows in isolation cells, but the distant sounds of marching feet led Max to believe that it was early evening. Manticore generally sent its units for route marches after dinner, for a little team-bonding before bunking down. Max had usually enjoyed these marches, when they weren't accompanied by a trainer. It was then when she and her brothers and sisters could talk; as long as their feet stayed in time, their murmuring voices couldn't be heard from back at base once they'd strayed two hundred metres from the barracks. Their unit had had some of their most revealing discussions on route marches, both as a group and as pairs or threes. It was on one of those marches, in early December the year before they escaped, that she and the rest of the unit first heard of Zack's escape plan. He and Tinga, their 2IC, had evidently discussed it at great length since Jack had been taken from them and Max had seen him in the lab, but this was the first time that it had been shared with the group. Despite their complete shock and confusion at the new ideas they were presented with, not one of them broke stride. Even though they were children, they were still soldiers.

That night, after lights out when the rest of their unit were sleeping, Max and Jondy held a lengthy discussion about this new development in their lives. Although the two youngest in Unit 12, they were the ones who seemed to need the least sleep. Most nights they would steal out of the barracks and into the deserted gym. There was something about climbing the ropes and using the equipment without direction that was liberating, and this was where Max usually did most of her thinking, whilst her body was otherwise occupied performing perfect manoeuvres effortlessly. That night, however, they stayed in their bunks. There was too much new information to absorb, and the thought of leaving to go to the gym didn't even enter their heads.

Max sighed silently, rolling her eyes. That was the only reason that she hated isolation, really. There was no chance of leaving your cell after lights out; the doors were sealed and the entire block was in lockdown. At least she had a few more hours of peace before her neighbours came home for the night.

The next thing that Max did was take a tally of her injuries, tensing and relaxing individual muscles without moving her limbs. Only a transgenic would be able to notice the subtle shifts of her body, and if there was a transgenic watching her then they would have been able to see her head move earlier. She worked from the bottom up, pleased to find that her lower body was in pretty good shape. Apart from cuts and bruises, including a nasty large bruise on her left hip, nothing seemed to be amiss. As she worked her way up her torso, she became slightly less elated. There were three ribs broken on the left side, and two on the right. She had a fractured right clavicle from when her shoulder had dislocated, and several deep cuts on her upper body, including one above her left eye. Max frowned a little in confusion, causing that cut to pull, nearly reopening. How long had she been unconscious? The cuts were almost healed, and the fractures were stable. It took X5s at least a week for that kind of restorative healing to take place.

Max knew that no-one would come in, regardless of whether she got up or not. When the route marches started the trainers and most of the staff went home, so there wouldn't be anyone save a couple of guards around. Sure, they'd probably call Lydecker to let him know that she was conscious again, but chances were that he'd wait until morning before coming to do whatever he was going to do. Her mind made up in a fraction of a second, she raised her body slowly from the bed. The strain in her chest from her broken ribs sent a sharp pain shooting throughout her body, but no evidence of it showed on her face. In fact, Max relished the soreness of her body, it told her that she was still alive, and still in control of herself. The pain gave her a sense of power, she could control it and she could decide whether it affected her or not. In this case, she chose not.

A few hours later, she was still sitting up on her bed, her back against the stone cold wall. She was facing the door to her cell, watching the CCTV camera there. It had followed her around the room when she'd paced the perimeter, her eyes taking in every minute aspect of the cell that she could possibly use later. Any flaws in the masonry, rust on the bars. To her dismay, she hadn't found any. Nobody had come to check on her yet, so she assumed that she was completely secure. Her head snapped up as she heard footsteps echoing around the corridor. The cell door to the left of hers slid open, and a transgenic entered it before the door slammed closed again. There was now only one pair of feet resounding around the corridor, and to her surprise they stopped outside her door. The hatch slid open. A guard stood there, holding a tray of cafeteria food. The food in Manticore wasn't actually too bad; apparently the secret government agency had decided that if they were going to create genetically-enhanced super-soldiers, they may as well keep them as healthy as possible. Max's stomach contracted at the sight of the tray; she obviously hadn't eaten since she'd been brought in. The hunger suddenly erupted in her body. She would do almost anything for the food the guard held in his pale, slightly chubby fingers.

'State your designation,' the guard said, his eyes indifferent.

Max faltered. She knew what the guard wanted her to say, immediately knew the situation. She made her decision in a split second. 'My name,' she said slowly, advancing on the guard, 'is Max.'

The guard slammed the hatch in the door shut and walked down the hall to the guard's station, depositing the tray of food in the garbage can as he entered it.

--End of Chapter Two--


	3. Isolation

For disclaimer, please see Chapter One. I've seen all available episodes of Dark Angel now, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who wishes that it had never ended! Oh well, at least we can all read (or write about) our own versions of what could have happened.

**Reivin** - I'm glad you liked it! TFR.

**BlueAngel137** - Lol, thanks for the praise! I tried to make the X4s a little scary, pleased that they came across that way! TFR.

**kill bill rocks** - Thanks for the Mexican wave, very much appreciated. I'm glad that you think Max's character is believable; I'm trying to make it happen! TFR.

**GuestTypePerson** - Huh. Okay, well I'm happy that you like it! I hope this is a quick enough update for you. TFR.

--Chapter Three--

Max surprised even herself that night; she slept for another six hours straight. Although she knew that when she was hurt she tended to sleep more, the extent of her exhaustion suggested that there had been something slightly more wrong with her than a few broken ribs. Speculating that it could always be an after-effect of being sedated, she put it out of her mind.

She'd woken to the reveille at 0530, a constant in the daily life at Manticore. The transgenics in the barracks would now be getting dressed in their fatigues, preparing for inspection. Max sat up on her bed. She was dressed in a regulation gown, and she hadn't seen any other clothing in her cell last night. In fact, her cell was completely bare save for her iron foldaway bed and sheets; isolation cells didn't even have windows, hence the necessity for the ventilation grills between the rooms. Max heard the transgenic in the room next to her put on his boots with a resounding thud, and then stand at attention by the bed.

Sure enough, just over a minute later, all the doors in the isolation wing slid open with a dull hiss. The sturdy footfalls of several guards came down from each end of the corridor, stopping at each door. Max's room was near the right hand end of the block, and as the guards reached her cell they didn't stop. One peeled off from the end of the formation and stood in her open door, facing the outside, not even making eye contact with her.

Max quickly assessed her options. In her current state, with her several fractures and possible internal bleeding, she didn't have enough energy or stamina to take out all the guards. One, maybe two she could manage, but there were at least five in her corridor alone. Not to mention that if any of the other transgenics had a fierce loyalty to Manticore then they would prove to be much more difficult competition. No, now was definitely not the time to attempt to overpower the guards. The best thing she could do right now would be to stay quiet and compliant, to bide her time and wait for her moment. So she waited.

Max saw all the other transgenics march past her door and out of the block. They were a range of ages, races, both girls and boys. They youngest were merely toddlers, two or three years old, whereas the eldest were in their late teens. There didn't seem to be anything about them to suggest why they were in confinement, they were all so different and seemed perfectly trained. When they had all left the block, followed by the other guards, the man outside Max's cell turned around. He was one of the largest guards that Manticore had to offer; clearly they still viewed her as an escape risk. That didn't really look good for Max; she was obviously in line for some time in Psy-Ops. The guard took a pile of clothes from the corridor and a pair of military issue boots and dropped them just inside Max's cell, his eyes not leaving her the entire time. He walked out of the cell, looked to his left and gave a small hand gesture. All the doors in the block slid closed again with the same pneumatic hiss. The guard removed the CCTV camera from outside Max's cell and walked out of the block.

Max picked up the clothes and changed quickly. She had clean underwear, a sports bra and some thick woollen socks. The fatigues were new and stiff, grey as opposed to khaki due to the icy terrain around Wyoming, and a tank top to match. The boots were also new, and to Max's surprise they fitted her perfectly, all the clothes did. Max supposed that her measurements must have been taken whilst she was sedated, a thought that made her slightly uneasy. There was something she really didn't like about not knowing what had happened to her. If there was one thing that Max hated, it was not being in control. She supposed that it was something to do with feeling so out of control for all those years at Manticore, since she'd escaped she'd learnt so much about everything, both inside and outside the facility. It had taken her nearly two years to get things settled in her head, she'd only just begun to feel confident about who she actually was and everything that had happened to her so far. Now was really not the time she'd wanted to be back at Manticore, where almost all of her confusion stemmed from. In fact, she thought, smiling slightly at the irony, she'd never really wanted to be back at Manticore. Ever.

Five minutes later the huge guard came back to her cell, finding her sitting on her bed the same way that she had been since she'd regained consciousness. Max looked up, to her surprise he opened the cell door and came in.

'X5-452,' he said, his eyes slightly above his line of sight; the classic soldier pose. 'Fall in.'

Max stood up, ignoring the screaming pain in her abdomen and ribs. She stood at ease, looking directly ahead. Although she really hated what she was doing, she was smart enough to play along. She hadn't eaten anything last night, and her concentration was starting to wane, her head becoming fuzzy. After all, she knew what would happen if she continued to fight the system. She doubted, however, that she'd be able to fool everybody.

The guard pivoted to face the door. 'Follow me,' he said, marching out of the cell.

Max followed, falling in with his footsteps instinctively. They marched through several doors and corridors, the route familiar. The guard left Max when Lydecker opened his office door.

--End of Chapter Three--


	4. Command

For disclaimer, please see Chapter One. I've been hearing recently that authors are no longer allowed to leave individual comments for their reviewers, and I don't want to incur the wrath of So thanks go to CrimsonReality, Black Rose9, kill bill rocks, allison lightning and BlueAngel137, my wonderful reviewers, and brownies and ice cream for all.

--Chapter Four--

The first thing Max noticed was that Lydecker seemed to have aged a decade in the two and a half years since she'd seen him. The lines on his face were more pronounced, and he looked more tired. As soon as he saw her, however, his posture straightened, his features hardened and his eyes seemed to come alive again.

'Ah, 452,' he said, moving back behind his desk and sitting down, picking up several forms. 'Close the door and stand at ease.'

Max did as he directed, closing the door with an ominous click and turning around to stand in front of it. Her torso was still protesting at the slightest movement, but the short march from the isolation unit had loosened up her muscles, and her limbs barely even ached any more. She stood at ease, grasping her left hand with her right behind her back and inclining her elbows at ninety degree angles. She'd fallen back into the military habits the second she'd needed to, Max supposed that they'd never really left her. It was true, she hadn't marched or performed any static drill since she'd left Manticore but it was something that you never forgot, like riding a bicycle. In actual fact, Max hadn't ridden a bicycle for almost ten years. Transgenics were taught to cycle at the age of two, progressing quickly to motorcycles and cars by five. By the time they were ten, all of the X-series could operate 95 of vehicles, on land, in the air or in the sea. Those who excelled in engineering and repair could also dismantle and rebuild most of these machines in under eight hours. Max, extremely skilled in all disciplines, had just completed her vehicular training three months before the escape.

In fact, most of Max's unit had excelled in all areas. The X5s were the best of the X-series so far, they had the highest IQs, the highest levels of pain tolerance, as well as several more genetic 'improvements' leading to enhanced speed, agility and metabolism, among other things. They were one of four X5 units at the base, and regularly surpassed the others in every aspect of their training. Max could count the number of times that they had been beaten on one hand, and each time she knew that it was because a large proportion of her unit were injured or absent. They could function well so long as half of the unit was in reasonable health, as they could always pair off, one strong to one weak. It was this strong group bond that had led her unit to the winning position over and over again, and that had also led them to contemplate escaping. Anything that threatened their family had to be dealt with, and Manticore definitely resembled a threat, after all, they'd already taken away Jack.

Max's face was blank, her eyes staring. After all, she was thinking of Jack and the rest of her family, although as a soldier her eyes should be blank so Lydecker didn't seem to notice. He cleared his throat, and took a silver pen from the top pocket of his crisp blue shirt.

'So, 452,' he said, staring into her eyes with what Max knew was either loathing or disdain, she couldn't tell which. 'You've finally come back home to us.'

The room seemed to fill with tension almost immediately. Max so wanted to argue, to say that she would rather be anywhere else in the world but here, but she knew exactly what would happen if she did. 'Sir, yes sir!' she said, still not looking him in the eye, but digging her fingernails into her palms behind her back to keep herself from saying anything she knew she would regret.

Lydecker chuckled slightly at her blind obedience. 'You don't fool me for a second,' he said, tapping the pen on the papers in front of him. 'Now, let's get down to business. Where are the others?'

Max inwardly smiled. The others, he'd said. That meant that at least two of her brothers and sisters had escaped the same night that she had. She'd always wondered what had happened to them, she'd dreamt up lives for all of them, each and every one. Maybe Zane was in Florida, she'd always thought that he'd like the sea and the sand, that one time she saw it in Los Angeles she couldn't help but think of him. And Jondy would be in a city, just like she herself had always tried to be. There was something about her and Jondy that drew them to high places. The first time she'd seen a skyscraper, a real one, not just schematics; it had taken her breath away. It was just so beautiful. That night, she climbed to the top of the highest building she could find, and had just run, jumping from one roof to the next, over alleys and down slanted roofs, up the fire escapes to the top again. It was something reminiscent of the time that she and Jondy used to spend in the gym at night, and something she was so glad she could recreate. Unsurprisingly, like everything else in the real world, it seemed to be just that little bit more colourful, more genuine. Max was sure that Jondy would have found that little piece of paradise, if she had made it out, of course. She made the small mistake of looking into Lydecker's eyes. He glared at her and she looked up again like a true soldier, focussing just above his head. 'I don't know, sir!' she said, looking straight ahead.

'There's a surprise,' he said, leaning back in his chair. He picked up his pen and noted something down on the sheet of paper in front of him, emblazoned with the Manticore symbol across the top. He folded the piece of paper in half and slid it into a blank envelope, clicking the top of his pen and putting it back in his pocket. 'We'll just see what Psy-Ops has to tell us.' He stood up and went to the door, ignoring Max. He opened it wide and gestured to a guard who was waiting a couple of metres down the hall. The guard walked into the room and Lydecker handed him the envelope. 'Take her down to the Psy-Ops unit,' he said to the guard although he knew that Max could hear him, 'and give this to Dr Williamson.'

'Sir, yes sir!' the guard said, saluting Lydecker and moving to the side of the door.

Lydecker turned to Max. '452,' he said, coming so close that Max could feel his breath on the top of her head. It made her feel sick. 'I hope that you will be a little more forthcoming over the next few weeks.'

Max didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything at all. Inside she felt differently though. It felt as though she was boiling inside, as if she was feeling so much she could burst. She wanted so much to be back in the world, to find Zane and Jondy, and the others. The thought of spending weeks in Psy-Ops chilled her, set her teeth on edge. Zack had spent ten days in Psy-Ops once, after one of their exercises had gone wrong; Syl had accidentally shot one of their own unit when the crow had frightened them all. He hadn't spoken to any of them for months except to give an order, he hadn't even looked them in the eye. He didn't eat, and his sleep was plagued with nightmares. It'd taken him almost six months before he'd been their Zack again, and ever since then he had been more protective, his eyes were harder. He very rarely seemed to relax with them any more, only when their entire unit was together, alone, outside of the base. Max herself had never been to Psy-Ops for more that two days at a time, and memories from those brief visits left her shivering inside.

Years of training in Manticore meant that none of the emotion she was feeling showed itself on her face, though Lydecker did search for a response. Finally, finding none, he turned away. 'Dismissed,' he spat, stalking back to his desk and keeping his back turned.

Max saluted automatically, even though Lydecker wasn't watching her the guard was. She spun on her heel and walked out the door, following the guard down a vaguely familiar corridor towards the centre of the building where the Psy-Ops unit could be found, should anyone ever want to find it.

--End of Chapter Four--


	5. Reborn

For disclaimer, please see Chapter One. I know it seemed like I had abandoned this story, but I came across it a couple of days ago and, unlike most of my writing, I realised that I didn't exactly hate it. Thanks go to my anonymous reviewer for Chapter Four, and my muse who returned in full force once I'd read over this – reminding me where I wanted it to go in the first place! Please review to let me know if anyone's reading this, and let me know of any discrepancies.

--Chapter Five—

X5-452 was discharged from Psy-Ops six months later and sent straight to the medical bay for recuperation and monitoring. She knew she was a soldier, knew what she was trained to do. She knew her designation, X5-332960073452, the one thing that distinguished her from any of the other soldiers on the base. She knew the date – July 21st, 2013 – and the location – Manticore facility, Gillette, Wyoming. She knew all of these things, but yet she remembered nothing about the past three years or so of her life. She'd been told that she had been on a rather straightforward undercover mission with her unit, their first, attempting to infiltrate a terrorist cell in Washington. She'd been the only survivor when those terrorists had caught wind of their operation and bombed their location. She had survived because she had not been in the building; she'd been on sentry duty patrolling the perimeter. She hadn't time to warn her unit when she saw the hit coming. All of her former unit were dead because she had dropped the ball.

452 couldn't remember who had been in that unit. They had told her their designations, all X5s: 599; 656; 734; 493; 471; 701; 205; 210; 766; 824; 112; 539. Thirteen of them in total, herself not included. 452 though that a little strange, units generally consisted of fifteen members. She guessed that the other two had died prior to the mission, but she had no recollection of who they may have been. These concerns did not worry 452. She was a soldier.

It was a further three weeks before the medical bay was ordered to discharge 452. One evening, after the units had gone on their route-marches, Colonel Lydecker walked into the med bay and demanded to see 452. As soon as his frame filled the doorway 452 recognised his authority and sat at attention on the gurney, her eyes facing straight ahead. It was an unconscious movement; she knew it was appropriate but didn't know why.

Colonel Lydecker took a deep breath. He looked the girl straight in the eye and spoke quietly, authoritatively. 'State your designation.'

452 didn't hesitate, 'X5-452!' she said, loudly and sharply.

Lydecker smiled, noticing her unwavering stare and the obedience in her voice. He moved further into the room, allowing the light to shine on his face and illuminate the look of triumph in his eyes. He took a silver-topped pen from his breast pocket and opened the folder he was carrying. 'Why are you here, 452?' he asked, the point of his pen hovering over the paper.

'I am here because I am the only surviving member of my unit, sir!' 452 replied, still rigid and staring forward.

'And why is that?' Lydecker asked, writing several sentences in the folder, not even looking at the soldier in the bed.

The response came quickly and confidently. 'I am the only surviving member of my unit because I failed in my duty, sir!'

Lydecker wrote several more words and then closed the folder with the sharp sound of metal hitting metal. 452 seemed to not even notice. 'Indeed, 452. What do you propose we should do with a failure like you?'

'That is not for me to contemplate, sir!' 452 answered in the same tone. She showed no emotion on her face, even though she knew that at that moment Lydecker could, if he wished, choose to have her terminated.

'Ah yes,' Lydecker sighed, tucking the pen back into his pocket, 'it is not.' He turned to one of the guards that was standing outside the door to 452's room. 'Escort the soldier to solitary confinement, room D-4' he said, not looking back at 452. He then walked abruptly from the room and left the med bay.

The guard marched into the room to find 452 already out of bed and dressed, tying her boots. He waited several seconds for her to finish and to stand at attention. 'Follow me, soldier,' he said, briskly turning and leaving the room.

452's footsteps fell in time with those of the guard as they marched through the empty halls, echoing throughout the silence. They walked through several corridors and climbed several flights of stairs, the route forever ingrained in 452's mind. She was a soldier, after all. When they reached solitary confinement the guard briefly spoke to those in the guards' station. The large steel door that separated this part of the facility from the rest of the barracks slid upwards with a smooth pneumatic hiss, and the guard led 452 down another two corridors. He stopped outside a door marked 'D-4' and gestured for her to enter the room.

452 walked into the room, stopped and did an about turn, standing at attention. She turned just in time to see the door to her cell slide down with a noise identical to that of the door to the main area of solitary confinement. She still stood at attention, facing the closed door; her eyes never straying from directly in front of her despite the fact that no-one could see her. She didn't move until she heard the guard shout 'Dismissed!' back at her from the end of the corridor.

452 let her arms relax silghtly from the rigid position that they had previously held. She walked briefly around the room taking in the attributes identical to all solitary confinement cells: the lack of a window to the outside, the iron bed, the small toughened glass window and the hatch in the door, the ventilation grill. She slipped off her boots, lay back on the bed and prepared to sleep, waiting for lights-out. She wasn't aware of it, didn't remember it, but the cell that was her new room was the same one that she had been put in when Manticore had recaptured her more than six months ago.

452 didn't sleep that night, but she didn't think of anything either. She lay there, waiting for the 0530 reveille. She didn't wish to be practically flying in the gym with Jondy, or listening to Ben tell his stories, or comforted and watched by Tinga like she sometimes had when she used to seize uncontrollably. She wasn't aware of Jondy, of Ben, of Tinga. She only knew of 210, of 493, of 656. They were three of the faceless soldiers that were in her former unit. Three of the soldiers who had lost their lives as a result of her carelessness. Three of the people she had killed.

--End of Chapter Five--


	6. Development

For disclaimer, please see Chapter One. Okay, back again! Thanks to my reviewers for the last chapter; it's comforting to know that at least a few people are reading this.

--Chapter Six--

Life at Manticore fell quickly back into a routine. That was what life was about – routine. It might not have been the same as it had been the last time that X5-452 had been back at base but she knew what to expect, where she should be and when. It was not particularly difficult to be a compliant soldier when she knew what was expected of her. For five years she followed the same monotonous procedure, day after day, week after week.

Reveille every morning was at 0530, soldiers were to be washed, dressed and presentable and their barracks immaculate at 0600 when they were led by the trainers to the mess hall. 452 was still in solitary confinement – living arrangements that were not expected to change – and so she was led out with the rest of the soldiers held there, individuals that changed frequently, most of whom were there for a short period of punishment.

After breakfast (Manticore still had good food, despite the Pulse – balanced and nutritious) 452 was led out with the rest of the X5s. They spent the morning doing physical exercise: martial arts; gymnastics; sprints and endurance; using their individual talents to their greatest potential. Lunch followed a tank session, and then the afternoons were devoted to use of equipment: guns and every weapon ever known or used; vehicles of all kinds and their repair; explosives; poisons; surveillance equipment; the use of technological skills; as well as basic necessities such as picking locks and picking pockets. After a route march and dinner the X5s returned to a briefing room for lectures on tactics, encryption, theory of the military and of war. They were taught what was necessary for each to become what they were designed to be – the leader of a unit. The routine changed slightly at the weekend, the time was devoted instead to extended exercises, sometimes lasting for over 36 hours. They could be anything, from the operation of large military helicopters to hunting or escape and evade. On Sunday mornings, unless their extended exercises continued, the X5s were usually instructed to implement their training, leading squadrons of X6s, X7s and later even the young X8s in basic training exercises. 452 was not sure what the rest of the soldiers did during Sunday afternoons and evenings. Every week she returned to Psy-Ops for an eight hour period before being discharged at 2200.

There were only seven other X5s on the base, each operating independently. They were not encouraged to unnecessarily interact and they did not, whilst they could detail the others' fighting styles to the smallest increment they were not even aware of where the others were sleeping. They met at 0600 at the mess hall, spent all day together without speaking unless absolutely necessary, and left each other (for the most part) at 2200. 452 and another were different, however. Since the '09 escape, Manticore had discovered some rather interesting aspects a few of their soldiers possessed of which they had been previously unaware – there were several X5s, along with their twins and their other X-series clones, who only required two hours of sleep a night. X5-452 was one of these soldiers, as was another X5 on the base, 628, a black male one or two years older than her. The two soldiers, whilst the rest of the X5s were sent to their barracks at 2200, returned to one of the briefing rooms.

There they learnt specific skills necessary for undercover missions and night operations, skills that were useful to specific circumstances. Whilst all of the X-series could speak eight languages by the age of six, by their mid teens 452 and 628 were fluent in twenty-seven, passable in twelve more and could read any script in any language written at any time. They became skilled doctors and field surgeons, knowing the body in as much anatomical, physiological and pharmaceutical detail as the leading scientists in the field. They knew sociology, psychology, philosophy and theology. Politics, economics and law. They knew how to become almost invisible in a crowd, how to read people and situations to elicit sensitive and personal information. To manipulate and subvert, use people to destroy others and then destroy themselves – whilst keeping clean hands. They knew international culture, from literature to etiquette. They were so well-versed in North American geography that they knew the name, location and basic layout of every town with a population of more than 5000. By the time 452 reached the age of eighteen there was little insight or knowledge in the world that she did not possess.

The five or so years since her return to base had passed uneventfully for 452. Manticore had developed a gene therapy treatment that cured the seizures that she had suffered with, and they also kept her on certain medication to control oestrus cycles that had begun when she was fifteen. In all, her life was relatively straightforward; when every moment was scheduled it wasn't easy to become dissatisfied. Granted, she had occasionally had moments when something like the cry of a crow or the face of an X7 would make her do a double-take, as if there was something she was remembering that she didn't know any more. These events disorientated her for a second or two and then tended to play on her mind for days afterward. However, after one of her weekly Psy-Ops visits they no longer mattered, in fact she couldn't remember the reason for the discontent in the first place. Anything that couldn't be forgotten had been explained – the X7, for example, was a clone of one of her original unit-members whom she had killed. It was no wonder the face seemed familiar and that it had unnerved her slightly. It would, however, have been entirely unprofessional for that to affect her performance. 452 was anything but unprofessional.

In fact, command seemed to have the same impression. From the time of her release from Psy-Ops she was allowed to grow her hair, and once she was caught up on the basic training she was permitted to go on individual missions. Starting out as very simple and highly supervised, 452 was sent on assassinations (such as the member of Congress in Washington in 2015) and reconnaissance missions (she'd gathered intelligence on several terrorist organisations since the Pulse). After ten preliminary missions she was cleared for team unsupervised assignments, and after another ten successes she could be sent anywhere in the world on deep cover individual missions, lasting as long as six days. Once their advanced training was complete, 452 and 628 were the most experienced and qualified soldiers on the base. Due to her past failure in 2012 she was subordinate to him, and on October 12th 2018 she was named 2IC to his CO. They'd outperformed every X4 present on the base, and now were unmatched in every discipline. The only soldier that could ever beat 628 in anything was 452, and the only soldier that 452 ever lost to was 628. No-one else on the base even came close.

_The top of the ladder_, 452 had decided, _was the best place to be_. She was respected by the other soldiers and was infallible in everything she did. Every mission (_since the fateful first one in 2012_, something she now internally winced about every time she thought of it) had been an outstanding success. She could hold her breath for seven and a half minutes, use every weapon ever known to man in every way imaginable, and take down twelve heavily armed guards in less than two minutes without breaking a sweat or making a sound. She could see in enough detail to read a book for half a mile, and her speed would shame an Olympic sprinter. There wasn't a safe invented that she couldn't break, no possible movement by an enemy existed that she hadn't previously picked apart and counteracted in theory. Her processing skills were outstanding; she could consider every potential course of action and determine the optimum in a specific situation in less than fifteen seconds. She was one of Manticore's greatest successes and most valuable assets. She knew all about the world, and understood her place in it.

All until a course of events unfolded that changed the way in which 452 viewed everything. A course of events that she could trace back to one exact time, on one exact day. The day was Saturday November 3rd, 2018. It was exactly 2116, when 452 was resting in her solitary confinement cell after a complicated hunting exercise.

--End of Chapter Six--


	7. The Seed of Change

For disclaimer, please see Chapter One. I'm still here, and hoping to keep this going at a relatively steady pace, an update every couple of weeks. Let's hope I can keep to this, it's a more realistic target than I had before so I think it's achievable!

--Chapter Seven--

452 was lying on her bunk on a Saturday evening. That day she and the other X5s had completed a training mission, as per usual. They'd taken it in turns, the lowest ranked first, to complete a basic hunting exercise – wearing a visual headset (in order that their actions might be watched back at base) they had been ordered to take out a team of twelve death-row inmates based in the Manticore woods and dismantle their entire operation, freeing any captives. The men had been informed of the objectives of the X5s and had been armed and given a counter order to capture but not terminate. This was one of the routine exercises that the X5s completed; they usually had a standard hunting exercise every three months or so. The X5s had stopped being captured (at least a large proportion of the time – unless the team of convicts were particularly well-organised) when they were sixteen. Neither 452 nor 628 had been captured since they were fourteen years old. The objective of the exercise had therefore altered somewhat, the purpose was now not to complete the mission but to see _how fast_ it could be done. Until that day 628 had held the record at six minutes and 47 seconds, but 452 had just shaved twelve seconds off that time to achieve a new record. Depending on 628's performance she might now move into the lead. 452 smiled slightly to herself; 628 was out there now, not knowing she'd beaten him. She knew how perturbed he would be if he lost his lead.

Whilst 452 was lying down waiting for her turn to use the facilities and wash the prisoners' blood off of her face and out of her hair, the other side of the base was bustling with activity. Lydecker had just signed a termination order for an entire group of new X-series that had been deemed anomalous. The XP1s were an attempt to breed a new X-series of soldier with a Psy Ops element, but by combining the genetics they had inadvertently altered the Psy Ops side. This had led to the soldiers being able to read the minds of others and project their own thoughts, a type of telepathy, which was also mixed with a kind of telekinesis when the soldiers suffered from heightened emotions. The combination of these traits with X-series standard abilities had meant that these soldiers were extremely volatile, creating chaos wherever they went. The soldiers were currently all between eighteen and twenty-four months old.

It was thought by the Board of Directors that the amount of unpredictability would only increase as the soldiers grew older. When they had started talking about six months ago they had all suffered from extreme headaches as they were unable to control their ability to hear the thoughts of others. This extreme pain had led to structural damage in the foundations of the building and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of property damage when their telekinesis had gotten out of control. The Board of Directors had concluded that the potential uses of the group were not worth the difficulties that they were currently causing. DNA had been stored from each soldier in order that the geneticists might solve these problems for future models, and it was decided that all of the soldiers be terminated except for one kept for observation and testing. It was unanimously agreed that the soldier to remain should be the one exhibiting the most desirable traits, which meant that a female would be retained; they had generally shown a higher degree of control (although still significantly less than was desirable) than the males. One of the more advanced females, XP1-394, was chosen, and she was to be moved to her new barracks whilst the rest of her unit were taken to the med bay for termination.

It was slightly after 2100 when Lydecker and the trainers arrived at the barracks of the XP1s. All of the adults had earpieces in one ear, designed by the techs to emit specific frequencies for a radius of several metres, thereby drowning out any possible telepathic frequencies and protecting the wearer and those in the vicinity from telepathic projections of the XP1s. These gadgets were horrifically expensive, especially with the scarcity of certain parts after the Pulse, and it was not possible to produce them on a large enough scale to allow the XP1s to operate as hoped. The termination order was unavoidable. Lydecker stopped outside the room housing the XP1s and looked in through the reinforced glass in the door. The design of the room was slightly different to the rest of the base; all the cots were bolted to the floor, as was anything else that was heavy and might cause damage if any of the soldiers were to have a telekinetic episode. The men opened the door and walked in to the room, the soldiers automatically ran to attention in rows as they were trained to do. The sight of some of them, not yet steady on their feet, standing at attention would have been comical if it weren't so poignant. The men however showed no emotion, and ordered the soldiers to march out of the room to the med bay. As they left in two parallel lines, Lydecker spoke up.

'Not you, 394,' he said, his eyes picking her out of her unit. 'Fall back.'

The room shook slightly as a glimpse of fear overtook the small girl's face, but she quickly got a handle on herself and fell out of step with the others, remaining at attention by the door. There was one remaining guard standing just inside the door, opposite to 394. The contrast was striking; the guard was dressed in the same military fatigues as the rest of the trainers and soldiers on the base, but 394 was too small to fit any of the kit. She stood in a military-issue set of what looked like hospital scrubs, the same colour as the grey fatigues, and a pair of soft shoes. She was no more than two and a half foot in height, whereas the guard easily reached six foot. Despite these differences their postures were identical; they had the same glazed look in their eyes. Lydecker turned to the guard.

'Are you equipped with the filtration technology?' he asked, his eyes searching the space above the guard's ears for a telltale sign of the earpiece.

'Sir, yes sir!' the guard shouted, taking off his cap to show Lydecker the small piece of flesh-coloured plastic above his right ear.

'Good,' Lydecker said. 'You may replace your cap.' He walked up to the guard and stood less than two foot in front of him. 'You will escort this soldier to solitary confinement, room D3. Do you understand me?'

'Sir, yes sir!' the guard replied, his eyes still not making contact with Lydecker's.

Lydecker moved away from the guard. 'Good,' he said, briefly glancing at 394 before looking back at the guard. 'You are both dismissed.' Lydecker watched as the guard led the small soldier out of the barracks and listened as he heard their two sets of footsteps disappearing down the corridor. When he could no longer hear any indication of them he left the barracks and walked in the other direction, stopping briefly at the guards' station.

He didn't even look at the guards present there. 'Sanitise the room and move in Unit 7 of the X8s,' he said, as he walked past the open door. The guards inside looked at him as he passed, and as soon as he was out of sight they silently went to work implementing his latest order.

On the other side of the base the guard and 394 had reached the large doors separating solitary confinement from the rest of the base. It was 2116. From her bunk, 452 heard the main door open and two sets of footsteps, one heavy, one light, enter her corridor. They stopped outside the cell to the right of hers and the door opened with a pneumatic hiss. The light set of footsteps entered the room, and from the direction and timing of the steps 452 could tell that a young soldier had just walked to the centre of the room and turned, and was now standing at attention. 452's hearing was so good that she could count the breathing rate of the soldier in the room – _25 breaths per minute, for an X-series that's approximately 18-24 months old. What could a soldier that young have done to land in solitary confinement?_

But 452 did not have time to consider the possible answers to her question. She heard the guard utter 'Dismissed,' and as soon as the door closed she heard the soldier walk to the bunk and sit down on it. Several seconds later 452's head exploded with noise, loud and brash, drilling into her head. She closed her eyes and pressed her temples with her fingers in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain. All she could hear were voices, hundreds of voices, talking over one another and getting louder and louder, some crying, some screaming. This extreme pain continued for almost an hour, until 394 in the next cell had fallen asleep.

--End of Chapter Seven--


	8. Distraction

Okay, I'm going to stop putting disclaimers at the beginning of every chapter; it's in Chapter One and there it will remain. Bring on Chapter Eight!

--Chapter Eight--

The next morning, 394 had calmed down slightly. Whilst she was still projecting a loud cacophony of various voices the noise was no longer unbearable to those in her immediate surroundings. This was something for which 452 was unimaginably grateful; the noise (whilst not being on quite the same level as time spent in Psy-Ops) was incredibly distracting and caused a large amount of discomfort.

As the cell doors opened on that Sunday morning 452 was slightly surprised when she stepped out with the other soldiers into the bleak corridor and stood at attention. The cell door next to hers, that of cell D3, had not slid open in synchrony with the rest of those in the block. She watched in silence out of the corner of her eye as the guard walked down the corridor and slid a tray of food through the gap in the door to D3. He then returned to the main door and turned to face them all as he did every morning.

'Quick, march!' he ordered, leading them all out of the solitary confinement wing and out down to the mess hall. He dismissed them at the door as he always did and left them to make their own way in to breakfast.

452 sat at her assigned table with the other X5s, across from 628. They all ate their bland yet nutritious breakfast in silence as they normally did before the large clock on the wall read 0625. In unison the X5s rose from the table and walked out, depositing their leftovers in the large bins near the door as they did so. A trainer led them to the parade grounds and they spread out to their assigned places and waited, as they always did on Sunday mornings.

At 0630 exactly eight trainers led out the eight units of X8s that they had on the base and had them stand in formation, one unit before each X5. Seven of the trainers then left leaving one to supervise the entire ground. This was basic procedure, the units rotating, giving the X5s practice in leadership and meaning that fewer trainers had to work on the weekends, supposedly advantageous for all parties concerned. The groups varied, from X6 to X8. The X5s generally looked forward more to training with the older Xs as the drills were more varied and interesting, but the time spent with the young Xs did mean that they had time to think. 452 was currently thinking about the new soldier in the cell next to her, 394.

452 snapped out of her brief reverie when she heard the other soldiers start their exercises for the morning. 628 on her right was leading his unit in the basic primary martial arts procedures whilst 942, a blonde Caucasian female on her left, was quizzing hers on rudimentary infiltration techniques. Preferring action to inaction on a cold Wyoming morning, 452 decided that it would be prudent to begin the morning with some sparring. She called the designations of two of the soldiers in front of her and began the exercise.

After lunch came 452's weekly trip to Psy-Ops. As always she reported in and went through the same routine. After the monotony of this procedure over several years, 452 seemed to become slightly more conscious of what was going on and could control what she said and did. The pain was still as intense but the hallucinations and confusion that Psy-Ops usually caused were nowhere near so. In fact, the only after-effects 452 had after her weekly appointments seemed to be sleeping for an entire night with rather disjointed and confused dreams, although she hardly remembered any of them the next morning.

452 was well aware of the reaction Colonel Lydecker would have if he became aware that the usual Psy-Ops techniques were no longer effective in her case – he would alter them and make them more intense. It was for that very reason that 452 did not inform the Colonel of this change in circumstances, after all Psy-Ops was one of the things that most soldiers were scared by and if 452 had managed to find a way to circumvent its effects then it made no tactical sense to inform anyone of this. This 'immunity' to general Psy-Ops techniques was to be one of the factors contributed to the chain of events that changed 452's outlook on the world.

When 452 returned to her cell that evening it was just past 2200 hours and 394 was already in the cell next door – it was unclear whether she'd even left all day. As she got closer to the door she could hear those voices in her head increase, although thankfully they never reached the volume or pitch that they had the night before. When 452 was later sat down on her bed and the lights switched off with a flicker one voice became more prominent than all of the others.

It was the voice of a very small girl, and it reverberated through her head louder and clearer than all the others, although still not quite reaching a level that caused discomfort. It didn't take long for 452 to discover what was going on. _Cock the weapon… cover the trigger guard… safety off…_ pictures and sounds accompanied the voice when 452 concentrated on it – an L98 rifle, bullet casings hitting the ground... s_toppage drills… eject the magazine…_

452 smiled slightly to herself. The young soldier had evidently left her cell at some point during the day. She'd spent time at the range having various sequences drilled into her head, learning to use a rifle before she could properly hold its weight. 452 drifted off to sleep listening to the soldier next door run through everything she'd learnt that day, over and over. The sound of bullets hitting targets and visions of the trainers shouting accompanied her into her dreams.

When 452 awoke the next morning the voices had diminished to whispers. As a soldier she always awoke automatically at 0525, five minutes before reveille, and took stock of her condition and surroundings. As she expected her body was almost in top condition – she had a small burn on her left temple from Psy-Ops shocks but other than that there was nothing wrong with her. Her surroundings were another matter though; she could feel someone watching her. She quickly leapt into a fighting stance and looked around her, relaxing when she realised who it was.

394 was at the ventilation grill. Her small hands gripped the bottom of the frame and her eyes peered through right into 452's. She was pretty despite her military haircut, alabaster skin with dark eyes, what hair was there was dark. She was approximately twenty months old and hadn't lost her baby fat, although with Manticore training and diet she would do soon. She had a small smile playing about her mouth, and 452 heard her think. It was there, slightly louder than the other voices, leaving them as background noise.

It wasn't from 394's mouth, but it was the same voice she'd fallen asleep to last night. 394's voice was in her head, even thought 394 wasn't physically making a sound.

It was sometimes difficult to pick out her voice amongst the others, but words and phrases sometimes came through. _Cold… so cold… ice means I can't breathe… marching always, left right left right… must be better… all my fault…_

The disjointed thoughts seemed to come together to form sentences, complete ideas. _I'm sorry Jondy that I left you alone. Zack will take care of you._

And then all went quiet in 452's mind. 394 cocked her head to one side, as if asking a question. Her voice came through alone in 452's mind, loudly and clearly, echoing. _Ma'am,_ she seemed to be asking, _who is Max?_

--End of Chapter Eight--


	9. Revelations

Apologies to those who reviewed for the lack of personalised responses. Your reviews mean a lot to me, but RL has happened rather relentlessly recently and it was as much as I could do to get this out!

--Chapter Nine--

452 glared at the young soldier through the grille. Her scared eyes instantly vanished, leaving behind faint thoughts and images of the punishments dealt out for insubordination. Indeed when the cell doors opened and the soldiers led out to breakfast, 394 in attendance this morning, she was on her best behaviour, she didn't put even a foot out of line and her eyes never drifted from the vacant forward stare propagated throughout Manticore.

Nevertheless, 452 could still hear the voices as faint background noise in her mind, becoming more disjointed and unintelligible. By the time the small group of soldiers reached the mess hall the noise was more of a dull hum than a crowd of people.

394 waited with the guard outside the mess hall after he had dismissed everyone else, and was led in several seconds later to the serving hatch where she collected a tray of food and then to a small desk in the corner, big enough for one, where she sat facing the wall and picking at her breakfast. The guard stood next to her, not looking at her but staring aimlessly at the other transgenics in the hall. This was a rather fruitless task as all the transgenics had learnt at a very young age that joviality of any sort was entirely unacceptable. The guard was staring at five hundred children, aged between five and twenty, all of whom were eating in silence and not even making eye contact with anyone else in the room.

Little did that guard (or any other in the room for that matter) realise though that the 2IC of the entire base, 452, was struggling with an inner question. _Who exactly was Max?_ _Was he someone she'd met on one of her missions? They had had names. Had she killed him? And what about this Jondy, who or what was a Jondy? Any why was Zack going to take care of it? _These words seemed familiar yet their meanings were unattainable, like they were in a language that she had forgotten how to speak. But that was impossible; there were no languages that she wasn't at least literate in. _And none of them mix the syntax, grammar and basic vocabulary of English with words such as 'Jondy'._

These thoughts plagued 452 for quite a few months. Her body and half of her brain went about its daily routine, whilst the other half was almost constantly pondering the question so innocently posed by 392. The young soldier had thrown some more thoughts 452's way since then, but they were all disconnected and vague. _Something about ice, lots of ice. And teeth, what on Earth did teeth have anything to do with… well… anything?_ 452 seemed almost insulted that her mind was letting her down when it came to this particular puzzle; she had never come across anything she couldn't solve before. A half of her wanted to just leave and accept it as something that had no meaning, but part of her relied on pride and a desire for completeness, and she seemed unable to let it lie. She'd still run through what was expected of her, and had even gone on four deep cover missions. _At least, _she thought, _this obscure obsession isn't affecting my performance, my life._ There wasn't anyone on the base, except for 394, who had noticed any kind of a change in 452.

394 did notice that 452 had become slightly different. She no longer seemed to have the harsh look in her eyes when she caught 394 looking at her through the grille. In fact, she seemed to look deep into 394's eyes, as if she were searching for answers there. 394 herself also went through some changes in the following months. She turned two years old, and then two and a half. She grew several inches but didn't really put on weight; a proportion of her puppy fat had disappeared. She was much more stable on her feet and her vocabulary had increased tenfold, at least as far as 452 could tell from the voices that she projected. Interestingly, 452 had never heard her speak aloud; it wasn't clear whether she even could. But regardless of these developmental leaps 394 still looked like a child. _Of course she does,_ 452 would chastise herself gently, _she looks like a child because she is less than three years old. It is a strange place in which one so young is viewed as a soldier instead of a toddler._

The next big leap that Max would recognise when looking back at her second time in Manticore occurred on August 19th, 2019. The night before she had returned from her trip to Psy-Ops relatively unfazed but extremely tired, and had fallen into a dark and disturbing dream almost as soon as the lights went out, knowing she'd never remember it in the morning. 394 had slid out of bed, awoken by something she had heard from the cell next door, and stood at the grille. Her eyes were focused on the sleeping form of 452 but she was listening hard, although to anyone else in the vicinity there was nothing to be heard. She remained in that position for several hours before crawling back to her own bunk and slipping underneath the covers, smiling.

When 452 woke up on the morning of August 19th 394 was already awake and looking at her, a sense of excitement in her eyes. This mild act of disrespect had become frequent enough that 452 was no longer bothered by it, it was not military behaviour but it seemed to cause no harm and, to be honest, it was comforting sometimes to realise that you weren't alone, even if your only constant companion was a genetically-engineered toddler who could speak without opening her mouth. Although in reality 394 generally had very little control over what she projected, there had been clear moments in which she had spoken of Max, of Jondy and Zack, of ice, and, admittedly, also of teeth. But then there were other moments when 452 had been subjected to crowd noises for endless hours, to the rattle of automatic weapons, and also to silence, which had surprisingly become the most eerie of all.

Except for one thing. A few days after 394 had been moved into solitary cell block D the voices she projected descended into the screams of small children. It had taken several months for 452 to realise the significance of this, but soon 394 started accompanying these cries with pictures. They flashed like a slide-show, other young soldiers, holding their heads, kicking the guards, being heartlessly tasered and kicked aside, and then, one by one, being lifted onto a medical gurney and injected with a clear liquid. Their limbs no longer thrashing, their eyes open in a dead stare. Lydecker watching holding a cup of coffee. It was the termination of the rest of 394's unit, and 452 had no idea how she could remember it, surely she hadn't been there?

Interestingly it was that last image that always struck 452 the hardest, the one of Lydecker just watching. She never knew why; the dead children should have on the face of it been much more unnerving.

On the morning of the 19th she came one step closer to finding out. 394 'spoke' to her again that morning as she got up, her large dark eyes staring at 452 through the grille. It was the most she'd ever said and the clearest she'd ever said it.

_Zack again! Zack, Zack, Zack, oldest! Then lots. Lots more! Fifteen. Eva and Jack gone, but Zack and Tinga and Brin and Ben and Zane and Syl and Krit and Seth and Kavi and Vada and Jace and Jondy and Max! Max youngest, littlest, like me! Max is you, you like me! Max, Max, Max!_

--End of Chapter Nine--


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